


Untitled

by Daisy_PoisonPen



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Angst, Drama, Gen, Hostage Situations, M/M, Pacifist Markus, Post-Pacifist Ending, Romance, Savage Connor, lieutenant dad Hank, you're gonna need a drink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-15 08:57:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15409494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daisy_PoisonPen/pseuds/Daisy_PoisonPen
Summary: Connor has returned to the Detroit Police department and has begun a happy relationship with Android leader Markus.a protest that Markus organizes leads to dire consequences for their relationship, and for the Android's cause.this started as a joke and here I go making it angsty...





	1. Savage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StuckyandStarWars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StuckyandStarWars/gifts), [Momokai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Momokai/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor would face down anything or anyone to save the person that makes his mornings worth it.

Mornings are a happy time for Connor.

Markus turns on the morning news and Connor neatly presses their clothing for the day. Markus gives him Thirium to drink on the way to work. They are always happy, they kiss a lot and laugh a lot, talking about their plans for the evening when Connor gets home from work.

Today, Markus had been irritatingly handsome. He was dressed comfortably, had a backpack over his shoulders.

“I'll see you tonight. I'm going to be home early, the protest only lasts until three this afternoon.”

“Okay. I'm on call for the protest today,” Connor said conversationally. He'd put his shirt on and turned to face Markus. “I know you always do an excellent job of keeping things calm, but this seems like it could get out of hand easily.”

“We'll be careful, Con. We always are.”

“Be extra careful.”

Markus just kissed him, the feeling of his lips lingering long after he'd bounded out the door.

Connor is using that memory now to keep himself grounded. There is fury inside him that is both icy cold and roiling magma hot, causing him to breathe erratically. He clears more than one temperature or thirium pump capacity warning, putting a packet of thirium in the freezer for two minutes before opening it and downing the whole packet in one go. The coolness of the fluid does not help with the heat making his hands shake.

He breathes deeply. Loads his magazines. Checks his guns. He'll have a back up in his ankle and two on his sides, two of the three hidden. Hank is making him wear a vest, but he knows he won't need it. Still, he checks the straps. Takes the time to calibrate his motions, adjusting for the weight of the bullet-proof gear. He straps his ankle piece into his boot, lacing it tightly. He holsters his sidearms. Then he goes into the precinct armory's cabinets. He carefully sights and loads an assault rifle. Straps it to his back.

A soft knock sounds on the armory door. “You in there kid? I'm coming in.” Hank's voice is gentle, trying to be soothing. He knows Connor's furious. “Need help?”

Connor shakes his head.

“Con, I know I'm about to piss you off—”

“Then don't bother.”

“Con, I know you're angry—hell, I'm angry. But you need to keep that in check, okay?”

Connor finishes with his assault rifle. He also chooses two knives, strapping one into his opposite boot and the other inside his pocket. “I'm ready.”

“Connor—”

“I understand, Lieutenant. Thank you for your concern. The fact of the matter is, _Markus_ is there and I can't reach him. Based on the demands of the attackers, there is an 89% probability that he was taken hostage as well. _It was a peaceful protest. Those men are terrorists. I have nor tolerance or mercy for any of them._ ” He turns to leave. “I'm ready to go.”

* * *

 

The protest has been dispersed by the time they reach the scene. Thousands of people have been backed to a roadblocks outside of a five block radius. Connor is there to negotiate with the _terrorists_ but he doesn't want to. He wants to storm in and take them all.

That has become difficult. The reason for the five block radius is because the Hall of Records in front of which the protest was taking place has been rigged with explosives. As they brief him, Connor is careful to keep his face completely stoic. Inside, he is fuming. His hand is twitching toward his sidearm, and Hank eventually presses his own hand discreetly to the inside of Connor's elbow. _Calm._

“The robots—”

“Androids,” Connor corrects stiffly. “Androids were given legal personhood on December 20th of last year. Please be respectful.”

“Uh—right. Well, the Androids that were here are able to identify most of the targets. We've got their witness statements right here, and we've got two of them that decided to dump their memories, so we have visual confirmations of all the suspects.”

Connor goes to the command post and meets with each of the witnesses, Human and Android alike. He simply interfaces with the Androids, probing their memories with their consent. Then he talks to the human witnesses, extracting as many details from all of them as he can.

The first thing is a list of suspects:

  * _Andres Ortega. DOB 09-17-2007. Hispanic. 6'4'' 220lbs. Brown skin, brown eyes, black hair. Tattoo on his neck reads Solum Rubrum Sanguinem (translation: Blood is only red). Assault with a deadly weapon filed 10-21-2030, dropped. Unlawful possession of a firearm filed 10-21-2030, dropped. Domestic assault filed 4-22-2032, dropped. Aggravated assault filed 5-17-2032, conviction 9-3-2032. two years probation served. Robbery filed 6-10-2035, conviction 2-13-2036. Murder I filed 6-10-2035, conviction 2-13-2035. suspended sentence 10 years._
  * _Barron James. DOB 3-15-2010. Caucasian. Pale skin, brown eyes, brown hair. 5'10'' 196lbs. Possession and Distribution of red ice filed 8-24-2026. no contest 9-10-2026. 6 years, $10,000 fine. Domestic assault filed 1-19-2035, dropped. Attempted Murder I filed 12-26-2038 trial pending._
  * _Guillermo J. Perreira. DOB 5-2-2021 Hispanic. 5'9'' 170lbs. Pale skin, brown eyes, black hair. Possession filed 4-18-2038, dropped._
  * _Alan McLaughlin DOB 1-29-2020 Caucasian. 6' 236lbs. Pale skin, blonde hair, brown eyes. Tattoo on his neck reads Solum Rubrum Sanguinem (translation: Blood is only red). Tattoo on his forearm reads Frigidus Sanquis (translation: Cold Blood). Possession and Distribution of red ice filed 7-10-2038, dropped. Murder I filed 7-10-2038, dropped. Unlawful possession of a firearm filed 7-10-2038 dropped._



“There are only four of them?”

“Attached to this event, yes.”

“The tattoos suggest that this is an organized attack by a hate group.”

Connor grits his teeth.

“And they do have the hostages in a room rigged with explosives.”

“Yes, that's correct.”

Connor keeps his cursing to himself. _Fucking terrorists. The want to bleed only red, then bleed they fucking will._ He takes a breath. “Very well. I'm going in.”

* * *

 

“My name is Connor, I'm the negotiator sent in to hear your demands.” Connor's voice is loud over the speaker. He is on the roof of the building. Sharp shooters identified twelve hostages and four men with guns. They also can see what looks like a large bomb.

The leader's voice crackles over the radio. “They sent a plastic to deal with us?” Laughter follows. “Alright dipshit, here's the deal. I don't wanna talk to you, I wanna talk to someone that's actually alive. This bullshit isn't gonna cut it.”

“Unfortunately, a human negotiator isn't available. I can relay your demands to humans who will listen to you.”

“Fuck that and fuck you. The next person I talk to better be a human or else one of these fuckers gets it between the eyes. Why don't I start with... that pretty plastic over there? What's your name Sweetheart?”

Connor grits his teeth. He files quickly through his memory, loading a soundbite. In a perfect imitation of Hank's voice he says, “This is Lieutenant Hank Anderson, I'm with the Detroit PD. I'm Connor's partner.”

“And you're a human?”

“Yes.”

“Alright well we got a bomb here big enough to blow your entire little campsite straight to hell, and all your little friends sitting here will be smears on walls four blocks from here.”

“What do you want?”

“We want these goddamn plastics to stop demanding rights. They aren't _people!_ Blood is _only_ red. What they have is motor oil. Ya hear? Fancy motor oil! We also want a chopper and five hundred thousand dollars cash. That chopper better come with a pilot—and not a fucking robot one, either. You can have your plastic assholes back when we have all of that. If you forget something, we're gonna blow you the fuck up.”

They hang up before Connor can say anything else. He relays the demands to the command post. He decides he isn't gonna wait for them to scramble for an answer. He rips out his earpiece and slips into the vent.

He makes himself as quiet as possible, dragging himself silently along the ventilation shafts until he reaches the space directly above the hostages. He can see two of the men, holding automatic assault rifles and pacing back and forth. He can tell by the voice that the one on the phone had been Barron James.

He can't tell who is holding the detonator. Until he can figure it out, he won't be able to do anything. That asshole has to go down first, and he has to stay down. If he isn't dead, they all will be.

Connor takes slow, silent breaths, regulating his system and analyzing the situation. There is a 25% chance of each person holding the detonator. He can kill the first two he sees easily, but there's no guarantee that either one is the one with the detonator. Most preconstructions that he runs end in his failure, either by death, by death of one of the hostages, or by the detonation of the bomb.

_He doesn't know what to do._

Fortunately, the attackers do not have the amount of sense that he does. One of the younger ones starts taunting a human woman with the detonator button. Connor doesn't think any further or preconstruct to calculate the outcome. He dives through the vent, firing two shots straight into the young man's skull. He collapses on the hostage in a heap. Using the biggest one as a shield, he advances on the remaining two men, snapping his shield's neck with ruthless precision, the man helpless against the precise, twisting pressure the heels of Connor's hands press on his head and throat. He is dead before he drops. Connor goes down with him until he's crouching, and then he dive-rolls over the body, slipping the knife out of his shoe and throwing it as hard as he can. It sinks with deadly accuracy into one man's chest, causing the man to choke and gasp before he crumples. The last one lets his assault rifle clatter to the floor, his eyes wild with fear. He reaches behind him to pull out something, probably a knife or a gun, but Connor is faster. A quick one-two, _pop! Pop!_ and the man sinks to his knees before slumping to his side.

North cheers. “Well done, Connor.”

Connor reaches for his radio. “The hostages are secure. We will proceed to the roof, as all the other entrances available are rigged with explosives.” He goes straight for Markus, who is staring at him with his jaw hanging open, as if he's never seen Connor before. “Markus? Are you alright?” He scans his lover quickly, determining thankfully that there is no damage that can't be fixed with a self-repair program. He uses the second knife he has to cut through the crudely tied ropes. He does the same for North, handing her the knife. “Get them out of here and to the roof,” he orders, and North nods curtly, handing the knife to Markus and turning to retrieve the second one from the dead man's chest. For good measure, she kicks the man between his legs. Then she casually sets about cutting the remaining hostages loose.

Connor turns to the bomb, a quick analysis revealing which wires to sever, and he does so with a quick flick of the knife, which North returns to him. She rests a hand on his arm. “Thank you,” she whispers. Then she's ready to lead the others up to the roof access. Connor follows, staying close to Markus.

Markus doesn't look at him or speak to him until they're home.

 

 

 


	2. Purposeless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after days of awkward silence, the two lovers finally come to a heated argument.

Mornings are excruciating for Connor.

Where before there was tender kissing, laughing, and affection, now there is cold. He presses his shirt in silence. He takes his own Thirium packets out of the cabinet, whispering a goodbye to his lover that usually goes unanswered.

Markus's LED has been solid yellow for days. At night, sometimes it turns red. He reaches out to comfort him, to _see_ what it is about that day that scarred him. _I want to help you,_ he keeps saying. _Please, Markus. Talk to me._ Markus doesn't talk. He jerks away.

Markus doesn't talk. He won't even look at Connor anymore.

He spends his days at home now. Fowler was furious with him for going in on his own to rescue the hostages, despite having been sent there to operate under the chain of command.

“HAVE YOU LOST YOUR GODDAMN MIND?!”

_Maybe._ “No, Captain.”

“Then what the hell were you thinking?”

“That there would be no chain of command if that bomb had been detonated, Captain.” _That there would be no Markus if that bomb had been detonated._

Hank had huffed, exasperated. “Con—I understand that you—”

“No you don't,” Connor spit harshly. “If you had the power to push that truck out of the way to save your son, you would have by any means necessary.”

Hank went silent after that, eyes wide and expression injured, but Fowler was fuming. “You went of the rails for _personal_ reasons? How the hell do I know—”

“I did what I had to do to save those hostages.” _I would do it again to save Markus._

Fowler suspended him for a month without pay. He didn't argue or say anything else. He cleared his desk and left, leaving a confused and hurt Hank behind without glancing back.

He can feel himself drifting into a strange emotional state. It is like he's shutting down, but not bodily. Instead, his overloaded emotions are running too high: anger, panic, _pain_ so deep and volatile that they make him numb.

He stops begging Markus to talk to him after the numbness sets in.  


* * *

 

Markus knows he's seeing a ghost now. A ghost of the man he knew, a ghost of a kind soul. What he sees now is a man that stares blankly out the windows. The person that used to come to him for affection now merely asks why he's late and where he's been.

Eventually, he doesn't ask at all.

Markus is angrier than he has ever been before. _This is not my fault. Connor killed those men in cold blood. He was ruthless. He was... he is a killing machine._

Sharp bursts of memory flash through his mind: the sound that man's neck made when Connor snapped it. The gasp wrung out of another's lungs as a knife sunk into his very soul, killing him with chilling accuracy. Connor firing into a group of armed men, each of them dropping in turn while he, North, and Josh ran for their lives. Connor's expression from time to time, completely blank and drawn, accompanied by the words, "I had to neutralize a suspect."

He'd _tried_ to talk to those attackers. He wanted them to give up peacefully. Especially the young ones—he knew two of these men were only teens, young adults confused and trying to fit in—and he _wanted_ them to be successful. As long as they were alive, they had a chance. A chance to be decent, a chance to be alive, a chance for a future. Connor took away their chance.

Now Connor is a ghost, and Markus thinks maybe he deserves to be.

He takes his sweatshirt and leaves. Connor doesn't say goodbye. In fact, he doesn't say anything.

_How did I love a monster?_  


* * *

 

At night, Connor is still staring at the window. His gaze is watchful, suspicious.

_Where's your sniper rifle?_ Markus snarks. He doesn't mean to be so nasty, but he likes the shock that crosses Connor's face before it settles back into its blank mask.

_I left it in the basement of Hank's house with my chainsaw, duct tape, and rope, and torture devices._

Markus scowls. _So what? You're not a killer, then?_

_I'm a detective with the DPD. I wear lots of hats. Killer is one of them, if it becomes necessary._

_It's never necessary. You can't possibly be so remorseless about taking a life!_

_It was necessary. They had four guns and a bomb. They were going to kill you._

_Since when does my life matter more than that of a teenager?_

Silence. Connor turns back to the window.

_What the fuck do you want me to tell you? Congratulations, you killed four men including two teenagers in cold blood, and without even blinking. I'm glad I was there to witness your heroics. In fact, I hope they give you a medal._

_I'm suspended from the DPD for a month pending the investigation._ It was like Connor didn't even hear him. _It's a whole month that I will spend in here instead of out there. Not knowing if you need help... if you'll even come home._ Connor finally looks at him, but his brown eyes lack their sparkle.

_Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? I'm always fine._

_You always think that talking someone down is the only way. Someone that corners you in a dark alley or in a room with a bomb isn't interested in talking._

_Well then we make them interested, Connor! We don't just... go with our instinct. We're supposed to be better than that now. I... I really thought you were better than that._

Connor turns away. His voice is distant again, like he hasn't even registered Markus's words. _Those hostages were innocents. Human and android alike, never committed a crime except for believing that we are more than just machines. Would you rather that they'd died? What do you think it would do to my conscience, Markus, if I'd let you talk yourselves to death? If I'd had to watch from a distance as you went up in flames, and all those innocents with you?_

_I..._

_Rest assured, Markus, that I didn't simply go with my programmed instinct, and rest assured again that my first instinct is not to kill. You don't see it. Perhaps I am doing a lackluster job of showing it. But everything I do, everything I've done since we got together, it's for you. You are my purpose now. You give me meaning. I couldn't let them harm you._

Markus's jaw goes completely slack. _You're saying you killed those men for me?_

_I'm saying I would kill for you, since you would never even attempt to for yourself._

_Fuck you, Connor. I would never ask you to have blood on your hands because of me._

_As long as I am in here, I'm purposeless,_ Connor says numbly. _My purpose now is to protect the ones I love. That includes you. I would do anything to make you safe._ He stands up and moves toward the door, his movements robotic and numb. _I would give up anything up to and including my own life. Of course I would kill. And how dare you limit that purpose to my programming?_

Markus is stunned. _You are programmed to kill,_ he protests, weakly.

_And you are programmed to be a caretaker. After the revolution you went back to Carl and served him until he passed. Did you do that because of your programming? Or did you do that because you loved him?_

_That is not the same. How dare you?!_

_Was it your programming? Your instinct? You are the one that convinced me I am not a monster. And now you are convinced that I am, that I am programmed to be._

Connor turns the knob and steps out, shutting the door gently behind him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well that went well.  
> if ya see something, say something! let me know what you think.  
> also, I still don't know what to call this story pls help
> 
> <3 Daisy


	3. Remorseful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time for the best friends to give the love birds some logic.  
> lieutenant dad and Simon ftw

Connor had numb for a long time. He couldn't really hold that wall up anymore when Hank opened the door. “Connor? Shouldn't'cha be home? What the hell? Are ya cryin? Hey... what happened, kid?”

Connor had broken into sobs. Hank pulled him into his arms and held him until he was calm. “Talk to me,” Hank had soothed.

“Markus... he thinks I'm a monster,” Connor whispered.

“That's probably not true. Look, Markus isn't quite like you, son. He suffered before the revolution. You _know_ this. Give him time, kid. He idolizes you, he sees you as separate from the things he suffered. That protest brought the life he's built with you too close to what he used to know.”

Connor nodded. “He... had to salvage parts in the dump they left him in. he had to do that to live. He showed me what it was like. He thinks about it sometimes when we're alone.”

“Not to mention, more than one of his protests ended in his people, his _friends,_ getting gunned down in the streets like animals. That was supposed to be over once you won the revolution. But... then someone tried to _bomb_ his protest and you went right in, guns blazing.”

“It's what I'm trained for,” Connor sobbed. “I would do anything to save him!”

“Even lose him?”

Connor raised his chin defiantly, but liquid flowed from his eyes in relentless streams. “I would rather he think I am a monster than not be alive to think at all.”

Hank pulled him into a hug again, and they spent the night on the couch, Hank drinking beers and yelling at the television, his arm firmly around Connor's shoulders.  


* * *

Mornings are quiet for Markus.

He presses his own clothes. Thirium sits unused in the cabinet, and he takes a packet. Opens it. Doesn't drink it.

Connor doesn't mind it at room temperature—he figures that Thirium intake is just a necessity, and it doesn't have to _be_ and certain way as long as he takes the amount necessary for his activity. He is pragmatic that way. Markus prefers his slightly warm, closer to their own temperature (Androids run at a temperature similar to humans, albeit slightly cooler, around 95.7° to humans' 98.6°). Connor likes to wait for him sometimes on the couch with it slightly heated and in a mug, handing it to him and curling tightly to him while they shared their day through interface, their hands barely touching but their minds and souls connected.

He doesn't do that anymore, though.

Connor has been gone for more than a week. He hasn't tried to call. Markus is worried now. In the past, androids that were 'awake' as it were, tended to be suicidal in highly stressful situations. Connor could shoot bad guys and disarm bombs with the best of them, but the simplest things would stress Connor, and it was usually about Markus or Hank.

He realizes with a startling jolt that he _misses_ him. He misses Connor's warmth next to him at night, and he misses Connor's steady, thoughtful presence. He misses talking to someone that doesn't expect leadership or decisions from him.

For the first time since he woke up missing body parts in a junkyard, Markus is _lonely_. It eats at him in a way. But he doesn't want to give up on his principles. _Killing those men was wrong. Killing those men was cruel. Killing those men was as coldblooded as they claimed to be. Connor was supposed to be better._

But Connor isn't better. Now, he's gone. Losing him is like wire wrapping his throat and thirium pump inside his chest, and, like a boa constrictor, the more he tries to shove the panic away, the tighter it squeezes.

His mind is flailing between deep love that he has for Connor, and horror mixed with disgust Connor's capability to kill so... _naturally._

He's still deep in thought, troubled and confused when Simon shows up at the apartment. _Hey, are you in there? You didn't come in, we got worried._

Markus startles, unaware of how much time passed. He jumps to his feet and races to the door. _I'm so sorry. I didn't realize how much..._

 _It's fine, don't worry. Hey, I hadn't come around to visit you at home since you and Con moved in together._ Simon looks around, curiously excited to see the inside of the apartment. The walls are calm, white-blue. White picture frames are aligned in two perfect rows of three over the couch, displaying black and white photos of Connor and Markus together, Connor with Sumo, Markus and Carl, and the Jericho gang. Simon can tell that some of these were printed directly from one or both of their memories.

The couch is huge and fluffy, calm gray. Wood floors are neatly polished and sparkling clean, the warm tone offsetting the calm of the walls, echoed on a geometric rug in their living room. They have a dining space with only four chairs, and it's mostly unused except to be a receptacle for Connor's keys, badge, and sidearm, which Simon assumes are gone because of work.

He follows Markus into the kitchen. Most appliances go unused since they don't eat food, so the refrigerator, oven, and microwave are still looking shiny new. Here there are copper-brown tiles on the floor and on the backsplash of the cabinets. Markus takes out two mugs, pouring thirium into a tiny sauce pan and heating it briefly before serving it in the mugs. He hands one to Simon.

_Your place is nice._

_It's home,_ Markus says tiredly. _Since Carl's been gone, I don't really go to the house anymore._

_Do you... do you still talk to that guy? Leo, his son._

_From time to time. He wishes I'd come use the studio, but I'm not ready yet._

_I understand. Hey, are you alright?_

Markus sighs. _I don't know._

_What's wrong? Is it... is it the attack on the protest? You've been awful quiet since then._

Before he can help himself, tears flood his eyes. _I never wanted things to get that far._

_They didn't! They could have gone far past saving, you know. But the cops disarmed the bomb, and we were let out._

Markus didn't forget that Simon was with him and North during that protest. His mind brings up images of the way they'd grabbed his hair and forced him to his knees before tying his wrists behind his back, and he flinches. _I'm... so sorry._

 _I'm okay,_ Simon says, his eyebrows pulling together in concern. _God if we'd know you were so affected by this..._

_It's just... that protest was supposed to be peaceful, but it ended in death._

Simon coughs, trying and failing not to sputter his thirium everywhere. _Are you talking about the attackers?!_

_Of course._

_Yeah, okay. Look, you're the only one out of all of us that is sad they are dead now, to be honest. You might be acting a little bit ridiculous. It was either them almost half a mile worth of people._

_That's what Connor... that's what he said. But I..._

Simon glares at his friend suspiciously. _Markus, you've been a brother to me since I met you. You proved yourself as a leader, and a lot of that was due to your commitment to peace. I love you and I respect you down to the last wire in my body. But you can't honestly blame Connor in all of this._

_How can't I?! He killed those people as easily as we breathe._

_Do you really think that?_

Markus looks up, meeting his friend's eyes. _Don't you?!_

_I think he saved our lives and the lives of potentially hundreds more._

Markus shakes his head. _No, that's not—that's not an excuse._

_It isn't? Markus, you're honestly okay with those guys blowing us and themselves sky high to make a point? And Connor, by the way. He told us he was on call for the protest._

Markus swallows. _I can't..._

_It was either us or them. You saw how they handled that human girl. You saw how they handled North. North! Our friend. They made her bleed._

_Connor definitely made them bleed._

_I don't know if you noticed in all of your self-loathing and blaming Connor, but he didn't come outside with us and the hostages until the choppers landed to take us off the roof. What did you think he was doing?_

_I hope he was feeling sorry for killing those men._

_No,_ Simon snorts. _He was fucking puking. He threw up._

 _He did?_ Markus is alarmed now. Androids don't just vomit. Vomiting is a major malfunction. His stress level must have been in the low 90s to elicit that type of response, especially if there was no other physical malfunction. _Was he hurt?_ He asks, panicking a little.

 _I asked him if he was okay, and he showed me. It was a preconstruction. He ran through a bunch of them, but there's one that just kept flashing through your mind. Do you know how that one ended?_ Simon grabs Markus's hand and shows him his memory of that preconstruction. In the beginning of it, Connor jumps down through the vent and attacks one of the older men, disarming him and driving his foot into the man's knee. He keeps going forward, but he is fired on by the man that had been holding the detonator. Markus feels Connor dying as he shoots each of the hostages. The memory ends abruptly with Markus's death.

Markus swallows. _They... they would have shot us?_

_If it's in that preconstruction, then most likely. You know he spends his life calculating statistical data._

_What if he'd just tried to negotiate with them?_

_Most of the ones he showed me like that end in the bomb being detonated. Markus—I don't think he really had a choice. He showed me his thought process, and he was right. He couldn't do anything until he could figure out which one had the detonator, and even once he did, there was no chance that he wouldn't use it unless he was dead. And even if he put down the man with the detonator, what if someone else had grabbed the detonator? He had to put them down fast, and put them down for good. At that point, I don't think he even would have cared if the other guys had shot him, but he was terrified for_ you, _Markus._

Markus sighs heavily. _I wouldn't have wanted him to kill, not for me._ But now instead of conviction, all he feels is mournful. Was there really no other choice?

Simon glares. _What did you do?_

_I... nothing. We argued. It was..._

_You argued? Holy shit, and you let him leave?!_

_He... probably left to keep it from getting worse._

_Markus, I love you like a brother, but right now I can't tell if you're fucking stupid beyond all levels of idiocy or if you're stubborn as a cement wall._

_It's probably both. But I'm right, I know I am. I can't just condone the deaths of people that could have changed—_

_Markus, those people weren't going to change. You saw their eyes. You saw that bomb._

_And I saw Connor's eyes._

_And what did you see in them?_ Simon asks.

Markus swallows. _He was... focused. He was completely focused on his task._

_And when he saw you?_

_He was... he was relieved,_ Markus admits. His shoulders sag. _I... I made a huge mistake._  


* * *

Now, with a blanket and pillow folded neatly on one end of the couch and a packet of thirium in his hands, he just waits for Hank to come home. His house had been, as usual, a disaster. He'd done groceries for Hank as well as cleaned from top to bottom. He quickly ran out of things to do, though, and so now he just absently flicks through Hank's endless sports subscriptions and action movies.

It's been a week now. Markus hasn't tried to call him. He hasn't cried again, but he is still...

_Query: emotions related to the end of a relationship.  
//Heart break: many often describe the end of a relationship as a heart-breaking experience//_

He runs a diagnostic. His Thirium Pump doesn't present any errors. Confused, he runs another query.

_Query: emotions related to heartbreak  
//emotions related to heartbreak may include sadness, anger, depression, anxiety, confusion_

Now that, Connor understands. When Hank comes home, he tells him about his findings.

Hank sighs heavily. “My solution to heart break has always been in the bottom of any bottle I can find. Don't be like me, kid. Don't hide from it. _Live_ through it. Alright?” He pulls Connor's head against his shoulder, ruffling his hair. “I love ya, kid. You did good. You saved those people. You are a _hero._ But I gotta be honest with you, you were a little off your hinges there, especially in the beginning. I know the idea of losing those you love is frightening, but those are the times when we have to stick the closest to our training."

Connor sighs. "I... I messed up, didn't I?"

"Nah, kid. You did what you had to do. I can't say I am entirely happy about you going in without back up but... given the situation, I honestly can't be more proud. Give Markus time to think about all of this. He'll come around. He loves you.”

Connor nods against Hank's shoulder, but the truth is, he's worried that he and Markus are out of time.

Night time is lonely for Connor, now.

 


	4. Emotional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Markus finally talk.

North is here. Connor isn't sure what she's doing here, but as soon as he opens the door, he knows because she says, “Simon told me to come drag you out of bed. I come bearing presents.”

_Wh-what?_

“So, some people at Jericho have been working on Thirium for entertainment purposes, and have come up with this.” North hands him four glass bottles filled with dark purple fluid.

_What is it?_

“No, no. we're not doing any of that connect-y shit here. Use your words, oh mighty Deviant Hunter. This is Thirium XE. Don't worry, I hate the name too. But this is basically like beer for androids. It's basically thirium mixed with a couple of other ingredients that, when combined, actually give us the effect of being what humans call 'buzzed'. They say that if we drink more than two in an hour it can confuse our systems into shutdown so... you know. Drink responsibly or whatever.”

Connor holds the bottles in his hands, and then sets them down on the coffee table. _No, thanks._

“What? Why?”

He shows her his memory of the conversation he had with Hank.

North's face falls. “He's right, you know? Although... shit. I'm sorry.”

Connor shrugs. _He's alive. That's all I care about now. I just... wanted him to be okay._

North growls. “Out. Loud.”

Connor shakes his head. _I don't want to talk. I just want to... sit. Is that okay?_

“You're asking me?”

_Yes. You can drink your... Thirium XE or whatever. I'm just gonna watch a hockey rerun._

“Oh cool! Hockey is sort of awesome. Humans bleed at least once per game.”

_And that's a good thing?_

“If they bleed, I'm not bleeding.” North sighs. “Look—Markus is an idiot. He has been from the very beginning—trust me, I know. He managed to solve the first part of our revolution with nothing but talk and God—all of us are proud of him, aren't you? But our revolution is far from over. Humans don't accept us as people yet. The truth is, we're gonna have to fight it. Markus doesn't fully understand that what we _started_ was a _war._ You and I are warriors, Con, but him? He's doesn't have that mentality. _We do what we have to do to survive the war._ Markus just... manages all the peace talks.”

_It is rare, probably impossible, for there to be peace without war._

“One hundred percent. Carl doesn't come from war, and he hasn't shown Markus what that means. You, you see death on the regular, you see evil on the regular, you see the worst this dumb city has to offer, and you still come home and kiss him like everything is okay. That's because you _are_ a fighter, Con. A _fighter._ Not a killer.”

Connor considers this. _Thank you. I wish... I wish he could see that the only thing I was fighting for was him._

“The more this revolution goes on, the more he'll see things your way.”

_Hank says to give him time._

“Is Hank one of those philosophical drunks?”

Connor snorts. “Sometimes. Hey, speak of the devil.”

“Who're ya callin Satan, kid?” Hank slams the door behind him and looks into the living room. North has made herself comfortable, her shoes on the floor infront of her and her feet tucked underneath her in the corner of the couch, while Connor still sits where Hank left him this morning, swimming in one of Hank's hoodies and misery. He spies the bottles on the coffee top and arches an eyebrow. “Won't beer rust ya out or somethin?”

“This is Android beer. I see you have human beer. Connor has hockey on. Let's kick it.”

Hank nods his approval. “I like your style, girlie. Lemme get comfortable and start dinner. Are ya stayin?”

Connor scowls at the 'human beer' part, but doesn't say much. He can't really complain. Hank has stopped drinking hard liquor altogether, limiting himself to one or a few beers in a night, never more than four. He also leaves his revolver in his gun vault now. Connor doesn't want to push for anything else.

A few moments later, Hank plops down on the other side of Connor wearing sweatpants, socks, and a raggedy tee shirt. His arm comes around Connor automatically, pulling him close. “Ya alright, Con?” he asks quietly.

Connor nods. “Thank you.”

“Stop thankin me kid. You're my boy, I'd do anything for ya.”

“I didn't mean what I—I didn't mean to hurt you,” Connor says abruptly.

“What?”

“I... when Fowler reprimanded me in his office, I think I was cruel in bringing up your personal matters in a professional situation. I owe you an apology.”

Hank sighs. “You were hurting and upset. I can't say I'm pleased, but I ain't mad. I understand.”

“I'm sorry,” Connor whispers. “I really didn't want to hurt you.”

“I know, kid. It's forgotten. Let me hear this goddammit. Turn that up.” Hank never stops his arm, and he and North drink until they're both yelling at the television at the top of their lungs. Connor lets their noise drown out his sorrow, grateful for the distraction.

After the hockey game recording ends, Hank pulls up another, uncapping another beer. Connor gives him a warning look.

“Last one, kid,” Hank slurs. “Promise.”

Connor snorts.

_Connor?_

Connor freezes.

_I... is it okay if we talk?_

Connor stands up and opens the door immediately. Markus looks irritatingly handsome again, but Connor can see in his slumped shoulders and the way Markus doesn't meet his eyes that he feels utterly miserable.

_Are you alright?_

_Fine,_ Markus says, shrugging a little.

“Hey who's at the door, kid?” Hank calls from the living room.

“Yeah, who's that? Is it Simon? He said he was coming—”

_It's me._

North immediately stands up and grabs her shoes. _Oh it's you, is it? Well fuck you in advance, in case Connor is too nice to say it. Fuck you on his behalf._

_North—_

_Don't._ She gathers her things and Connor winces as she shoves past Markus, shoulder checking him hard. _You made Connor cry, you asshole._

Eyes wide, Markus glances between Connor and North. _I'm... I'm sorry..._

_Don't apologize to *me*, dipshit. Fix. This._

North is gone immediately after that, disappearing into the night with surprising grace and agility for someone who was rather tipsy not that long before.

Connor sighs. _I apologize for North... I don't know if you spoke with Simon, but he seems to think that you've been unreasonable, and he probably passed that opinion on to her._

Markus swallows. _Do you think I've been unreasonable?_

Connor resists the urge to rub his temples—it's a habit he picked up from Hank, but it doesn't really do anything for him except notify the world that he's stressed. _I think you're here because Simon told you to come._

 _I'm not._ Markus straightens. _Can I come in?_

Connor opens the door wider, letting him in. When Hank sees him, he quickly clears his beer bottles. “Welp. It's time for me to go on to bed. You alright here, Con?”

“I'm fine, Hank. Thank you.”

“Whatever you need, kid.” He pads down the hall, shutting the door to his room behind him.

_Sit down._

_It's good to know we can still clear a room._

Connor can't help himself, he laughs.

_I miss you, Connor._

Connor's smile dies on his face. He swallows, looking for something to do to distract himself from the intense emotion twisting his thirium pump in his chest. He ends up offing Markus an Android beer.

Markus takes it and sighs. I _t's—oh it's strong._

_Yeah, I passed on it, but North seems to love it._

_So does Simon._ Mark takes another deep breath. “Connor?”

Surprised, Connor looks up.

“I can't... _process..._ what happened that day with that protest. I can't understand why people can be so... so coldblooded and cruel. But to group you in with those people was wrong. I want you to know that I realize that I was wrong about you.”

Connor swallows, tears flooding his eyes again. “I just want you to be okay,” he whispers. “Nothing else matters to me.”

Markus smiles, placing his hand on Connor's cheek and wiping the tears there away. “I know. _Thank you._ Thank you for coming for me, for our people. I knew I could count on you.”

_Hank... he said you were probably just confused and traumatized, and that you didn't expect to see all of that violence—especially from me. Is that true?_

“I hadn't really looked at it that way, but you're right, he's right. Again, I wasn't expecting all of that.”

Connor finally gives in and opens one of the damn Android beers. Taking a small taste, he says, “You weren't wrong. Hank tried to warn me that my emotions were... not in check. I was _angry._ I was angrier than I've ever been in my life. And that was before I got there. To be honest with you, I went against the chain of command to get into the building. They put me nearby, on the roof. Professionally, that move was illogical—after all, if they blow up the building, they blow up the negotiator. Right? But... negotiating was not going to get anywhere. When they threatened North—that was North, I'm sure of it—I got desperate. If they would hurt her, what would they do to you? I wasn't in complete control of myself. I was hyper-focused on getting you out. Now when I think of it, I'm ashamed. I should have controlled myself better.

“With all of that said, I still believe that the outcome would have been the same. Markus—I love you because you believe in _saving_ people, in giving them chances. But honestly, there was no way I could find to keep all of those suspects alive without losing hostages—losing _you—_ or losing control of that bomb. I wasn't killing just... just to kill. _Please_ believe me on that. If there was another way, I would have taken it. But we can't save everyone all the time.”

Markus sighs. “I want to. And the truth is—I miss you. I don't want to care about it anymore. I don't know what happens now.” _I'm afraid._

Connor sets his jaw against the tears, but they come anyway. _Me too._ He holds his hand up, pale white metal glinting in the low light of the television. Markus does the same, pressing their palms together. What Markus receives is a short memory—a soundbite. _“I'd rather him be alive to think I am a monster than not be alive at all.”_

Markus jerks his hand back, staring at Connor with something like horror. _Connor..._

 _I love you more than me,_ Connor tells him. _I love you too much._

Ashamed, Markus replies, _and I seem to have shown you that I don't love you enough. I'm sorry, Connor. Truly, the pain I've caused you these weeks is unforgivable._

Connor shrugs. He drinks more Thirium XE.

_I want to ask you to forgive me anyway._

_Likewise. I'm sorry you had to see me that way, and I'm truly sorry for my loss of control. I can't promise you that it will never happen again. In my line of work, people die, and it's either us or them. I know that you know that. I have to do this. I have to protect you, protect North and Simon and Josh. I have to protect Hank. I love you all, you're the family I didn't know I could have. I want you to know that if there is blood on my hands, that will always be so that you never have to bleed or have blood on your hands._

Markus nods. _I know that but—it feels so wrong to ask you for that._

_You don't have to ask. I volunteered._

_But..._

_You would never forgive yourself if you had to make the choices I did that day._

Markus gives in, his shoulders slumping against the idea of ever raising a gun against someone again. _You're right._

_Well then leave them to me. I can handle it._

Markus takes both of Connor's hands. _Okay._

Connor pulls himself against Markus, using his arms _and_ his legs and wrapping him in the tightest hug he can manage, the other Android reveling in the embrace after such a long time apart.

_Come home?_

Connor wipes his face with his sleeve and smiles.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand cut! thanks for sticking around. feel free to tell me how i did or how much i did or didn't make you drink (loll). thanks for all the comments and kudos on this guys. it's my first short foray into this fandom, and so far everyone is so accepting and loving. special thanks to Momokai and StuckyandStarWars along with all the others, for joking with me about this and inspiring this little Connor/Markus bite.
> 
> find me on Skype here https://join.skype.com/invite/LdDFafQ7ugAN and on discord here https://discord.gg/uc2NVea where Fantismal has made a fantastic server for fans of D:BH and for fans of the story "Sacrificial Lamb" https://archiveofourown.org/works/15204947 which is an ongoing series you should *definitely* check out.
> 
> there will be more things from me soon! another D:BH fic and my current SuperBat project titled "Best Friends" are in the works, so stay tuned!
> 
> <3Daisy

**Author's Note:**

> hey, thanks for sticking around. I kinda churned this out in a couple hours, so forgive the rough edges and lack of intensive proofreading. if you catch anything/have any questions, please drop a comment so I can fix it!  
> also, Idk what to name this yet... halp.


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